Disclaimer: Pokémon = not mine

Chapter One

The voices of Many

There is a constant pulsing pain in my head, similar to a rather nasty headache but not quite like it. A pressure constantly building at the back of my mind like a blocked-off dam that keeps on receiving a constant influx of water with no way to release it. Well… until it eventually bursts, but that is neither here nor there.

Fortunately, I am closely acquainted with headaches… In fact, I'm quite the expert in my humble opinion, and I can say with about twenty percent certainty that this is not a dangerous kind of headache. This one is rude, nasty, and incredibly persistent like a particularly determined Zubat. I heard that Zubats stalk and annoy people who enter their caves, but ultimately are mostly harmless. At least, I hope so…certainly a headache is far better than the alternative. Because the alternative is—

Nope, not thinking of that. Nuh-uh.

I shudder at the barely passing thought and shove it at the back of my mind, hide it behind lock and key, and throw the key away. Good… I'm fine, everything is fine. No existential dread in sight. No demons coming back to haunt me from my past and all that jazz.

I'm just a normal kid, yep. As normal as a kid telling himself that he is normal can be. Nothing to see here.

Oh, look at the time! Gotta grab some breakfast!

I get out of bed with all the grace of a drunk Spinda and promptly stub my toe on the dresser. Damn you, furniture! That one time I manage to wake up without passing through an existential crisis you end up betraying me! I hop up and down and probably roll on the floor a few times trying to muffle my screams of pain and rightful indignation.

A little massage here, a curse through clenched teeth there, and eventually the pain fades to a dull ache. Phew, another crisis averted, the world is saved, and I get a mostly intact toe. A success in my book.

So now it's time for my morning routine!

I gingerly make my way through the room –my bedroom– I remind myself. It's quite a disorganized mess. Papers and books are scattered around the floor, pokémon figurines peek out from the unlikeliest of places, and my bookshelf seems to be holding itself precariously from falling by a generous amount of scotch tape pinning it to the wall… and with a generous amount I mean unholy amounts of scotch tape.

Ah, well I'll tidy it up later… and perhaps nail the bookshelf to the wall like I did the mirror.

As I walk towards a mirror attached to the wall by an even unholier amount of nails I feel a bit of anxiety bubbling up inside my stomach. The moment of truth has arrived as it has arrived every morning for the last two years. What will the mirror show me today?

Will I see a stranger looking back at me?

I glance at the books on the floor and read a couple of lines from the scattered papers. Oh, look, my essay on the Kalos war… every bit as bad as I remember it being. At least I am a merciful student and doodled a family of Bidoof between paragraphs for the teacher to enjoy… perhaps they are cute enough to warrant a passing grade!

The thought brings me a bit of relief. No, not the possibility of a better grade because I have long ago given up on being decent at World History… My relief is caused by something most would take for granted: I actually remember writing the essay!

With surer steps, I stand now in front of the mirror. Looking back at me is a ten-year-old boy with wavy purple hair and inky black eyes. He wears squared glasses like a pro intellectual and looks just about done with life. Yeah, that's about right.

A relieved sigh escapes my lips and I start talking, "I am Raiden Psych, I am ten years old. My parents are Satoru Psych and Meera Psych. I was born in Floaroma Town and lived here for ten years…"

Somewhat emboldened by getting everything right I lick my lips and continue, "I like watching TV, drawing, and g-gardening? I dislike History, mean kids, and junk food? I work as a pharmacist…"

I stop and think deeply about my last sentence for a couple of minutes. I can see a hint of fear in the eyes of my double looking back at me from the mirror. It's subtle but is there regardless despite my best attempt at a poker face.

"Do I work as a Pharmacist?" I ask myself.

The answer comes to me a few moments later. "no, that's not me."

I sigh and hold my head between my hands. I'm making mistakes, I'm not really sure I like gardening… and junk food doesn't seem that bad? Am I old enough to work? Do I even know enough to be a pharmacist?

Anxiety bubbles again, this time followed closely by the existential dread that I so stubbornly keep locked at the back of my mind.

Breathe in and out count to ten…

I look at the cheat sheet attached on the wall just right of the mirror. A cheat sheet that usually would not be there for any normal ten-year-old boy… a cheat sheet detailing basic info about myself such as likes and dislikes… my name and age, and where I live.

A slight frown appears on my reflection as I read through the notes. It quickly disappears as I shove my existential dread back and lock it tight once again.

I breathe in and out and force myself to smile. The smile doesn't really come out but it doesn't really matter. Everything is okay and I am fine.

"Oh, well… a couple of mistakes this time. I'm still a student and I like Pokémon battles… not gardening. Oh, and I apparently love junk food but mom says it's bad to eat too much of it. I also dislike forgetting stuff..."

I'm not sure why I'm talking out loud. Maybe to try and reassure my reflection that everything is fine? Sure, why not. My reflection seems pleasant enough to be around, wouldn't want to scare even that away…

I shake my head and walk to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Washing my face with cold water does wonders to chase away the lingering tiredness from my eyes and somewhat counter the building headache in my skull. I peek once more into my room in hopes that the disastrous mess tidied up by itself and nope… still there. Great.

And to think that I tidied it all up yesterday evening before bed… Oh, well. It happens.

I decide to tidy it up later and go downstairs. Nobody is at home and I quickly whip up something for breakfast. I raid the pantry for biscuits, bread, and cereals. It's a small room adjacent to the kitchen where mom keeps most of the food. Of course, even with an entire room she still thinks she doesn't have enough space. I blame her abysmal organizational skills.

I close the pantry and head to the fridge. A quick look to scan the contents, I grab a bottle of milk and some marmalade. Then I sit down and eat like a starving Snorlax because I like my breakfasts.

Between one bite and the next, I can't help but relax. It's quiet and peaceful, though a bit lonely.

Mom must have already gone to the pharmacy. I do tend to wake up later than usual since I've been taking online courses and it's quite rare for me to see her off these days. She left me a note on the fridge, of course, asking me to look out for her garden and to call her on the pokégear if anything happens. The usual.

One would think that after a couple of years of her leaving the same message I would remember… but then again, I do have quite a fickle relationship with memory, so she might be right in leaving notes.

I stretch, smuggle a couple of Poffins from a jar, and head outside to check on the 'garden'. At least, that is what my mother calls it. In truth, it's basically a bunch of fields full of medicinal herbs that surround the house. When I think of the word 'garden' I usually think of well-cared-for flowers and exotic trees, coupled with beautiful fountains in the shape of elegant Pokémon, not whatever our garden is…

I mean… living close to Floaroma Town with its countless flowery fields might have been the reason for my rigorous idea of a garden.

Some plants do have flowers in mom's garden, mind you, though nothing truly spectacular, and my mother often cuts them and grinds them to paste to create her healing salves. She then sells those very same salves at her pharmacy in town.

That's not a garden: It's a flower execution ground!

A look at the 'garden' and I see that everything is alright. The terrain is undisturbed and the plants are healthy and watered. No Diglett in sight to ruin the garden nor Starly willing to dig the soil for food. These plants only need to fear my mom's mighty garden shears whenever she is low on ingredients. And that is a perfectly justified fear. I do share that fear after all, even though it's just because she would force me to help out and I suck at gardening.

I walk around the house to double-check that everything is fine. Mom's Roselia is standing guard in the backyard… or rather, sunbathing without a care in the world. I'm pretty sure that if Roselia could speak, she would argue that she is simply going through photosynthesis to keep a more efficient guard or a similarly convenient lie.

Ah! Could have fooled me! She looks far too smug for such an excuse to be true. And I'm not saying it just because she always snitches on me whenever I'm trying to avoid mom's lectures. I mean… give me a chance at saving myself for holy Bidoof's sake! That woman is scary when she wants to be!

Roselia notices my arrival and her smug expression intensifies. I sigh and bring out the smuggled Poffins with an unnecessary flourish. Roselia grins and as quick as a Jolteon tries to reach for them. I'm ready for her though and keep the sweets out of her reach by lifting my arm.

Ah, not so fast, shorty. You can't beat my… tallness? Yeah, let's go with that.

Roselia pouts and brings her hands… flowers? to her hips. She watches me intently but doesn't move otherwise. Thus, I know that it's time to make my offer.

"I trust our… partnership is still ongoing," I say.

Roselia of course doesn't reply and I swear that if she could, she would raise an eyebrow condescendingly.

I sighed and figured that was as much as I would get from her and continued, "So… if mom asks you who broke the lawnmower, you will say?"

Roselia rolls her eyes and with irritating determination points at me.

"No, no, no. We discussed this! It was the Starly!"

Roselia studies me indifferently and simply puts her flower-hand forward expectantly.

"Fine, one Poffin for your silence," I relent, placing one Poffin in her flower-hand. Roselia keeps staring at me and says nothing as her smugness reaches levels that honestly should not be legal.

"Alright, alright, let's make it two Poffins… but I'll have you know that this is extortion!"

Roselia looks quite happy now that she has two Poffins. I can see her gluttony clearly behind her seemingly unbothered eyes and I'm sure that she is dying for me to go on my merry way so that she can eat her newly-earned sweets in peace.

"Now, when mom asks you about the lawnmower…" I say encouragingly.

Roselia sniffs and rolls her eyes again but finally relents. Her flower-hand points at a poor oblivious Starly flying in the sky just above. Roselia then dismisses me away by waving her flower-hand in my general direction as if I'm a particularly bad smell she wants to get rid of.

"Good, we're on the same page."

I walk away quite pleased with the result, though a part of me feels quite offended at having been extorted sweets by a stuck-up weed with a strange propensity for theatrics. Not that I would ever tell Roselia that or I fear she would probably try to hang me upside down from a window and probably succeed. I don't like my chances against that crafty little weed.

I finish my daily inspection of the garden around the house and circle back to the entrance. It didn't take longer than twenty minutes, and most of the time I spent bribing Roselia. I hope that there are enough Poffins to last me until mom manages to buy a new lawnmower… There should be, but that Pokémon is without shame and might raise the price of her silence again. Perhaps I should try my hand at making some? couldn't be all that difficult, right? Just throw random stuff in a pot and mix as if my life depends on it, right?

The sturdy wooden door creaks a bit as I open it and head back inside. I barely notice it closing, lost as I am in my musings. I'm about to go back upstairs to tidy up my room and prepare for the online course when my eyes pause on a small wooden box in the corner.

Great, just great.

I don't even need to look inside it to know that it's full of medicine. It's the beginning of winter and people are being taken down by the flu left and right these days. Mom's medicine is very popular for its effectiveness in combating the symptoms and of course, she forgets to bring it with her to the pharmacy…

Uncle Chuck does say that I inherited my scatter-brained tendencies from mom… and I'll deny such absurd accusations to the grave. I'm not scatter-brained, definitely not. My eyes are those of a Staraptor and my attention is sharpened like a fine blade that– Oh, did I wash the dishes today? Dunno, will do it later. Maybe… eventually…

Still, I need to do something about the box full of medicine. Should I call mom? Yes, I'll do that. A swift trip upstairs and my pokégear is in my hand. It's quite the old model and it is full of scratches to boot because of me dropping it several times. The red cover with the drawing of a Charmander is literally falling apart… yet I never get my act together and buy a new one.

it's not like I use my Pokégear for anything other than making calls to mom. And truthfully, my only other contact is uncle Chuck, which is kinda sad… but enough crying over my lack of social life! time to act smug to mom about her carelessness so she can't have the high ground next time I forget to do my homework! That is far more important right now.

I open the telephone app from the menu and select mom's contact. There is a series of acute rings as the Pokégear is making the call. I wait for quite a while and nobody answers. I also hear a ring-tone suspiciously similar to mom's coming from the kitchen every time my phone rings. A swift check in the kitchen and I sigh in defeat. Mom forgot her Pokégear at home… way to go, mom.

I go back to the entrance and eye the box critically. Should I bring it to her? It's been what… two years since the last time I've been in town? Perhaps I can do this. It's not like things are that bad, right?

Eh, why not, it's not like I had that much of a problem being near others for a while… Okay, that is a shameless lie, but still...

I swallow thickly as I make up my mind. I can't keep running away from this, right? Eventually, I'll need to interact with people again. Need to build up resistance.

I lift the box quickly and I'm out before rational thought can stop me. Roselia eyes me dispassionately from the garden as I start my trek to town. The Grass-Type Pokémon doesn't say anything. That is as big of an encouragement I can get from Roselia, I suppose.

The road is narrow but surprisingly well-maintained for a countryside path in the middle of nowhere. The flowery hills are somewhat more barren due to the approaching cold of winter but are still rather colourful for the season. Perhaps as a direct result of the large population of Grass-Type Pokémon in the area.

I focus on my surroundings with all my might as I put one foot ahead of the other. It truly is beautiful… though I would certainly enjoy the view more if my headache didn't go full Zubat.

At first, it was quite unnoticeable… the throbbing was painful but bearable. A constant reminder of why I should not go near people. Now, with every step I take, it intensifies in a painful commentary of the stupidity of my actions. Against my better judgement, I ignore it. I have a job to do and I would actually enjoy having a semblance of social life, thank you very much.

Every step starts to become more painful as I walk along the path. The throbbing in my head has now evolved to a sensation akin to a bunch of maniacal Honedge happily stabbing away at my brain.

Outside my mind, I can feel voices talking. Voices screaming. Voices whispering. It's almost like a stream. A stream filled with uncountable consciousness that tries to drown my brain.

I should turn back and forget about the box. I should do the smart thing for once in my life… unfortunately, I don't give up easily.

It hurts. It hurts. IT HURTS! IT HURTS!

The stream intensifies in power and my vision becomes blurry. My thoughts are getting so jumbled that I am barely able to function.

Step after step I continue walking at a snail's pace. Progress is still progress and every step leads me closer to my mom. I probably don't even have enough brainpower left to actually find the Pharmacy, and yet I keep at it.

IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!

My eyes are closed shut as a hiss of pain escapes my lips. My legs falter and yet I barely manage to hold onto the box. Floaroma Town is in sight… my eyes tell me so… my mind… my mind SCREAMS me so!

The dam is full and pressure is at an all-time high. My mind claws and bites like a caged Pokémon, wanting to free itself of the limitations of my skull. Yet, I can't free it. Not now, not ever. Pain is way better than what would happen if I free it. I can't do this… I need to endure… I need to–

The box falls with a crash as I stumble forward and fall. A spike of pain unlike any other punctures my skull and I let go. The dam breaks and my mind frees itself of the shackles of flesh and bone. It expands and roams free taking, in sensations brought along by the stream of consciousness. Thoughts, and feelings that aren't my own. It doesn't hurt anymore, but instead, it feels as if I'm drowning in the stream for I am Raiden Psych no more.

I am a Pokémon Trainer on her first journey. I feel happy as I skip along the roads of Floaroma Town with a smile on my lips. My Piplup is quite strong and I'm proud of having trained it well. It managed to hold its own against a Grass-Type Pokémon earlier today! It had been quite a close match against the other trainer, but in the end, I won! I guess it's time to take on Gym challenges...

I am an old lady, holding my weight on my trusty cane as I carefully inspect the market for the best sale. My joints feel weak and my back is in constant pain. I'm used to it by now… such is the curse of old age. I straighten up and eye the fruit stall with a critical eye. I do quite like how those apples look… and my dear son loves my apple pies. Decision made, I take out my purse from the bag…

I am a woman hurriedly walking down the road. I am quite embarrassed by what happened back at the shop. Oh, dear, not only did I forget to bring the box full of newly-prepared medicine, I even ended up forgetting my Pokégear! These days I wonder if my brother is right and maybe I am a bit scatter-brained after all. I'll certainly deny it until my final breath even if that were the case! Hopefully, Raiden is being responsible and studying for once…

I am a man sitting at a table. In front of me lie dozens of uneaten apple pies. My stomach is full and I might have the beginnings of indigestion. Oh, if only my dear old Ma didn't keep on making these pies… Every day she forgets that she already made one and ends up making yet another one! I should tell her that I can't eat them all… and yet Ma looks so happy whenever she brings one as a gift…

I am a shopkeeper, a nurse, a mother, and a daughter. A son and a father. A policewoman chasing a thief and a thief running from the cops. A florist creating delicate compositions and a tired employee after a stressful night running on caffeine.

I am one and I am many. I'm lost among minds of the stream and their disconnected memories pull me under. A whirlpool of thoughts and feelings that belong to different people and still I feel them as if they are mine and mine alone. Clashing personalities merge in a confusing chaos of chattering echoes. All voices want to be heard, but none truly prevails, and my feeble voice is silenced by the noise.

For to become all, one first must become nothing. And in the minds of oblivious people living their daily life, I drown and despair.

A Psychic's Journey

Ouch… My head is killing me. It throbs painfully and my brain feels like it melted in a disgusting omelet. I wonder how it would taste… aaand I guess I'm not hungry anymore. Actually... Was I hungry earlier? I remember those apple pies gave me indigestion. Maybe I shouldn't buy any more apples, I'm not even sure why I made that many to gift them to my son and ended up eating them all. Well, perhaps Piplup can help out!

Without thinking I reach for my Pokéball and find it missing. Oh, no! The Professor told me to be careful and now I lost my very first Pokémon! What do I do now? I'm too old to get another and just thinking of travelling to the lab with my arthritis… I do feel strangely energetic though.

My surroundings are a blur. I hear voices from somewhere out of sight and I get up surprisingly easily. I don't remember this place. It's a bedroom, one I do not recognize… there are papers scattered on the floor about History, Maths, Sciences… Oh, an essay on the Kalos war. I read the first couple of lines and a chuckle escapes me. Whoever wrote this is really bad at essays. I like the Bidoofs though.

Enough of this, I need to find Piplup quickly before my Arthritis returns and convince him to help me eat those pies. I feel lighter than I've felt in years! Or was it yesterday? This place is weird… I thought I'd wake up in a cell after the cop caught me. It was very hard to catch me, I needed to finish that bouquet first and I was really fast. Fortunately, my training at the academy paid off.

It's strange though… I don't remember being this small. My hands aren't weathered by time and I'm pretty sure it would have taken me at least a week to fully digest all those pies.

I look down at my hands and my breath quickens. These… these aren't my hands. They are far too small and big. I was a baby last I checked and Ma would hold them until I fell asleep. My joints aren't sore… my clothes… these aren't my clothes.

I start to hyperventilate as I look around the strange room. There is too much that is off. I'm… I'm not even sure what it is. I've… slept here before? I rush to my feet and stumble on the floor hitting my head on one of the scattered books on the floor.

I need to get out. OUT!

Have I been kidnapped? By the cops?

What did I do? Who… who even am I?

It all crashes down on me then. The frightening realization that I truly don't know the answer to such a simple question. Half a dozen names battling like Pokémon to win their spot as the true one. They are all true, and all false. I feel it in my bones.

Panic and fear turn my blood to ice. I want to scream but I can't. There isn't enough air to breathe properly… I'm drowning.

My head pulses in pain and I want it to stop. I can't think. I don't want to think. I… just want this to stop. My memories are countless and yet all sound hollow. I am both old and young, healthy and sick, innocent and guilty. There is a box somewhere in those memories. A box that broke and everything went wrong.

I hear hurried steps somewhere out of sight. There is the creak of a door opening as someone rushes in. It is all drowned by fear though and I don't trust my eyes to properly take in what is going on.

Someone is talking. I know whoever it is, it is talking to me. I can't reply. only try to breathe as everything I thought I knew crashes down in maddening confusion around me. I feel someone lifting my body… this body that feels so wrong like a dried-up husk and that it certainly isn't mine.

A woman speaks again. She calls out a name. I can't hear it.

I'm carried towards a mirror attached to the wall by countless nails as if a maelstrom would steal it away.

I see the husk that isn't mine.

A purple-haired boy with inky black eyes. I don't remember him. Perhaps a friend of my daughter at school? But my daughter graduated twenty years ago!

The woman calls out to me again. It is deceptively calm, yet I can hear the panic and fear hidden behind her every word. That fear is tempered by something though… experience, I realize. Perhaps I should listen to her. Perhaps she can help.

I try to focus on the present, trying hard to understand the alien words that come out of her mouth. I'm sure I spoke that very same language all my life, and yet, never before was it this difficult to understand it.

"Raiden, deep breaths. In. Out. It will pass. Mom is here."

She repeats it over and over while massaging my back in soothing circles. I try to listen and fail quite a few times as I get sidetracked by stray thoughts and forget. It might have been minutes or even hours, but eventually, I manage to perform the deceptively simple task of slowly breathing in and out.

I'm scared. I don't remember. I want this to end. She says it will end. I trust her.

There is a spark of recognition somewhere at the back of my mind. The memory of a young boy waking up every morning and prattling to a mirror a list of basic, precious facts. My eyes fall on a piece of paper beside the mirror and I tentatively start to speak.

"I-I am R-Raiden Psych. I am ten years old. My parents are…" I stop and panic because I can't remember who my parents are. I just remember apple pies and indigestion.

My eyes go back to the cheat sheet and I continue, "Satoru Psych and Meera Psych. I was born in Floaroma Town and lived here for ten years…" It feels true enough. No apples and no Piplups in sight. I really don't know what I would have done if I had been fathered by a Piplup.

I lick my lips because it feels like the right thing to do and I'm suddenly feeling quite thirsty. Regardless, I continue, "I like watching TV, d-drawing, and cooking."

No… I don't know how to cook. The cheat sheet enlightens me that I like Pokémon battles. Fair enough, I guess.

"I dislike History, mean kids, and forgetting. I work… no, I don't work. I-I am a student."

Once I finish rattling off the simple list, I start again. This time it feels more real. More like me…

I repeat it again and again as tears come unbidden and my vision goes foggy. The woman that I'm now certain that she is my mom whispers reassuring words in my ears and hugs me gently. I start remembering more and more… and I feel terrible about my stupidity. I knew why I couldn't go to Floaroma Town and decided to ignore all the perfectly good reasons why my idea was destined to fail. I dropped mom's box of medicine and probably broke all her hard work. And why? Just because I was feeling a bit lonely? I know I have to get used to being alone… so why can't I accept it?

Mom doesn't look angry… she never does when I'm having one of my attacks. I'm not sure if I want her to scream at me or hug me tighter and never let go.

My uncontrollable sobbing slows down and eventually stops. I feel drained as if I've been awake for three days straight… and if I summed up all the different things I've experienced by reading the minds of all of Floaroma Town inhabitants… it would probably amount to more than that.

My eyelids are suddenly too heavy to keep open and as soon as they close I fall asleep. At least this time, I'm still myself.

A Psychic's Journey

There is a feeble light filtering through my eyelids. An enticing smell invades my nostrils and promises the deliciousness of mom's homemade cookies. My body feels heavy though and the warmth of my blanket is like a heavy anchor pulling me back to the depths of sleep. I turn and stifle a groan as I shift my weight around and dull pain. Great, now I am definitely awake.

I slowly open my eyes and look around the room –my bedroom– with uncertainty. It's familiar… This is good. I remember. Still…

My hand reaches for the glasses on the dresser and I hastily wear them. Soon after, I get out of bed and move towards the mirror. As I do so, I notice that there are no papers nor books on the floor. Everything is tidy and in its place as if the mess that was here before is nothing but a vivid dream. No memories of tidying up my room come to mind...

The familiar feeling of fear bubbles up in my gut. It almost seizes me completely but I try to reassure myself that perhaps mom tidied up the room in my place.

I remember mom. That's good.

The mirror is in front of me now, the image greeting me within is fortunately familiar. Purple wavy hair, done with life, glasses, yep that's me in all my glory. Oh, the bruise is new.

I breathe in and out and as I have done every morning in the past two years I speak to my reflection about myself. Something so seemingly narcissistic that I would laugh about it… at least that would keep the tears at bay.

My mom is waiting downstairs in the kitchen. Her purple hair is tied in a simple bun though I can clearly see a couple of stray strands refusing to stay in place. Her soft lineaments are somewhat tense, probably due to the stress my little project put her through. The eye bags under her warm maroon eyes seem to further confirm this. She is not a woman of great beauty and the hard work in the countryside coupled with my shenanigans certainly left her with a couple more wrinkles than expected. Regardless, she is skilled enough in the use of make-up that usually covering such things is trivial. I say usually because that very same make-up is now smudged and ruined by tears…

She really was worried, uh?

She is sitting at the kitchen table with her nose buried in a book titled: "The Power of The Mind." It's a book I actually remember her buying a few days ago in hopes it could help me out. She tends to do that every week… she buys books about psychic powers and minds reading. All the texts she bought so far were scams though, so I don't have the highest of hopes in finding the answer to my problems hidden away in a book.

Mom notices as I enter the kitchen and probably taps in some kind of mystical power attainable by worried parents because she is already hugging me mere seconds later. I swear she moved so fast she teleported! I don't fight the hug… and maybe I even return it… a bit. Sue me, I am scared and I can't keep my tough kid reputation going all the time. I do pause and wonder what I need a tough kid reputation for… to intimidate Roselia into submission? I guess that is as far as my social circle goes. Good enough for me.

"Raiden, you scared me, you know? Finding you there on the side of the road-" her breath hitches but she maintains her composure. "What happened?"

"Mom… I'm sorry. I was just-" I whisper, though I'm not entirely sure what it actually is that I want to say. I could say I was just bored… or that I wanted to help out… or I could even tell her a messenger from the Elder Bidoof Gods appeared to me in my cereal bowl and commanded me to visit the town. Of course, all of these are lies, and among them, only the latter is actually believable.

"I'm tired, mom. Tired of feeling lonely and of headaches… of turning my room upside down in my sleep with telekinesis and being unable to turn off my telepathy. I just thought that if I tried hard enough if I pushed through it… I could get over my..." I pause, considering the right word to describe the mess that I call my life. "Condition," I finally say. A neat neutral word I can hide behind.

Mom hugs me tighter and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said after all. Words would not really help me and would probably make me feel worse. What can you even say when faced with something like that? Even I would be speechless and I am the highest authority on making me feel better!

"We'll get through this, together. I know you'll learn to control this… and when you do, we'll visit town every time you want," she declares softly.

Wow, that is a bold statement indeed… and I stand corrected. Apparently, there was something she could have said to make me feel better. She ends the hug and leads me to the table.

Soon enough I am sitting down with a bowl of mom's famous cookies in front of me. There is Moomoo milk and cereal, toasted bread, marmalade, and even some cake. We just need pancakes and this would be a kind of breakfast worthy of those famous Unovan movies… those in which the protagonist is late for school and thus takes only a piece of toast and ignores everything else. What a waste.

I'm already munching on a cookie when the thought occurs to me. "Mom, why are we having a second breakfast? Not that I'm complaining because I love breakfast but I thought we should be having lunch."

My mother shakes her head and replies, "You had breakfast yesterday morning. Your stunt had you sleeping through the entire day."

"That long, uh? I do feel strangely well-rested for once. Not even a headache right now," I reply, sipping on a glass of Oran Berry juice. Hmm, this juice is pretty good.

"I'm glad. This means you can start with your homework then… since you skipped an entire school day," There is a mischievous glint in my mother's eyes as she continues, "I had a looong chat with your history teacher yesterday while you were indisposed. He told me all about your… how did he put it? A propensity for breaking all known records for lowest grades since the online course was founded."

The Oran Berry juice, of course, goes down the wrong pipe as she speaks. I choke on it and cough, though through sheer willpower and stubbornness I refuse to do a spit-take. I will not be that cliche!

"S-so it would seem"

My mom's smile is unwavering, though there is a hint of danger in it that triggers all of my son instincts. This requires some form of appeasement to avoid certain death, or worse, being grounded.

I smile and put on the most angelic face I can muster and unashamedly lie through my teeth, "I'll do better! History is hard but I'll put in more effort!"

Mom nods and says, "Good, make sure that you study extra hard these days. Your teacher said there is another test soon."

"F-fine."

I breathe in relief and go back to enjoying my Oran Berry juice now that the danger has passed. Only too late do I notice that mom's dangerous smile still hasn't left her lips.

"Oh, and Raiden? you're grounded. Roselia told me it was you who broke the lawnmower."

This time I can't avoid the spit-take and look onward in horror as mom starts her dreaded lecture on not misusing her tools for my entertainment because she isn't made of Pokédollars.

I have the sneaking suspicion that mom really wanted me to do that spit-take… was she already corrupted by Roselia's need for theatrics? Was I too late? Damn you, Roselia! I'll have my vengeance!

My mom talks and talks in a vain attempt at teaching me the correct way to behave. Poor thing, she still thinks I'm not a lost cause! I, of course, don't listen to a word as I plot revenge on a certain smug traitorous weed that really needs to be taken down a peg or two.

There is much to prepare…

Well, I actually don't have a clue on how to get back at that weed but it sure sounds nice to think I know what I'm doing.

Time to start plotting!

After breakfast, of course.

And here is chapter 2! If you feel like it, tell me what you thought of it. Reviews are always great.

Suggestions for Raiden's Pokémon team are still open. Do keep in mind that every Pokémon must have Psychic as at least one of the types.

I hope you enjoyed reading so far, and see you soon!